It's difficult to describe that sinking feeling when you're
lying in bed - contemplating whether to get up or have
another wa... have another five minutes sleep - and then the
mega-alert goes off on your pager. It really is horrible.
And then when the pager message begins with E.Sussex...
and you realise that you've got a 5,000 mile drive ahead of
you, followed by male Blue Rock Thrush... well, I
don't think there's anything worse. Except perhaps crabs.
I've never had crabs. But there's a first time for
everything.
I didn't really twitch during 1998-2000 as I was having far
too much fun as a student living in poverty and surviving on
a diet of Blue Dragon 3 minute chicken chilli noodles and
Bulgarian white wine that was on special offer at our nearby
off-licence - 2 bottles for £4, or 3 bottles for £4.50! At
one stage I was so poor that I couldn't even afford a £3.50
weekly bus pass to get me into town to go to lectures and
learn about stuff, and instead decided to go back home and
drink Bulgarian white wine... for a whole week. Amazing how
I always managed to find the money for booze at the expense
of everything else. You're supposed to look back at those
golden days with great affection but, let's face it, that's
just bollocks. It was shit. So anyway, I didn't twitch
during 1998-2000, which cost me Slender-billed Curlew and,
amongst many many other things, Blue Rock Thrush. Not that I
care. To be honest I probably wouldn't have gone for them
anyway. I hate twitching. Not really. Well, you know. Or
maybe you don't.
Thankfully today the Blue Rock Thrush was only around at
Selsey Bill for 20 minutes and then never seen again -
vagrant birds in Britain seem to be doing that a lot this
spring - so Miss Cole and I were saved from the vicious
journey. So what now? I know, Pendle Hill for Dotterels...
It's a long way to the top (if you wanna see Dotterels). Or
not see Dotterels as it was in our case. Billions of
Wheatears and sheep, but it seems that the 3 Dotterels that
were showing really well just before we got to the
summit then decided to fly off and weren't seen again that
day. I should care, but I don't. Even though I do. I think.
Aren't birds brilliant! say the RSPB. Well they're
not all the time.
Holy sheet, what a morning! The lake was dead so I headed
quickly up to Barlow Tip in the hope of a Grasshopper
Warbler, and as soon as I climbed the bank I could hear one
reeling, possibly two, though it's hard to tell sometimes
when they're throwing their voices about. 2 Whitethroats
were singing away, my first House Martin of the year flew
over and the weather was fucking brilliant. Could life get
any better? Well...
...I noticed something drop out of a tree and land in a
patch of tall grass, so presuming that it was worth digging
out I slowly walked towards the area and eventually flushed
it as it flew back up into the tree giving a szzeee
as it went - shit the bed, a Tree Pipit! Last year there
were up to 5 Tree Pipits on Barlow during April but that was
a freak occurrence, so this is great news. The Pipit then
flew over towards the river and landed, and I was just about
to tell a few interested local birdspotters and Mancunian
yearlisters when I saw something pale perched on top of the
weedy stalks - no fucking way, dude! A female Whinchat - no
fucking way dude! I got a bit closer to enjoy the bird-fest
and was then able to confirm that there were indeed 2
Grasshopper Warblers reeling with one eventually showing
quite well at the bottom of a small sapling. But finally,
back at the car park, I was just putting my keys in the car
when I heard what must have been a Yellow Wagtail call
twice, clearly flying over high up, but I couldn't see it.
And later that day I heard that both Garden Warbler and
Lesser Whitethroat were seen - shit el bed!
3 Greylags on the lake were, quite embarrassingly, a patch
tick for me but there was to be little else of surprise with
a Sand Martin and 5 Willow Warblers the only things of note,
until at the 11th hour a Whitethroat threw out a bit of
scratchy song and put on a little display flight, and then 4
Common Sandpipers flew across the lake.
It's 1998; the world is changing; revolution is in the air;
the old world order is coming to an end; finally Empress
Thatcher's master plans are bearing fruition thanks to the
enthusiastic help of her most trusted acolyte Anthony Blair.
To summarise, 1998's most important political, cultural and
economic events were as follows: the Real IRA killed
29 in the Omagh bombing; General Pinochet was placed under
house arrest in England; Charlton Heston became president of
the National Rifle Association; Titanic won 11
Oscars; Viagra hit the chemists; Stone Cold Steve
Austin won Wrestlemania XIV; George Michael was
caught flashing his tallywhacker to a police officer; and
questions were being asked as to why Monica Lewinsky kept on
coming back with mayonnaise split all over her dress after
lunch with Bill Clinton.
Quite a year! But 1998 will forever be etched into our
collective conscience as the year in which music changed.
Forever. Without question. Because in 1998 the world was
introduced to the greatest musical force in history:
Another Level.
Another Level were so good at doing music that for
ordinary scum like me or you (mostly you, it should be said)
their brilliance was so utterly incomprehensible that we
failed to truly acknowledge their epic contribution to the
advancement of Western culture. And so - after two
groundbreaking number one singles in the UK Hit Parade - we
cast them aside, like a soggy tissue thrown under an
adolescent boy's bed in a panic when he hears his mum coming
upstairs. But who can forget their classics such as Freak
Me and... err... the other one. But, most of all, who
can forget the greatest musician of them all - the man who
puts Bach to shame, pisses in the face of Duke Ellington,
tells Paul McCartney to go fuck himself up the arse with
rusting barbed wire wrapped around a cricket bat. That's
right, a man with such exceptional talents and
giftednessness that they had to name a disused quarry in
Cheshire after him. Oh yes, bow before him, bow down low in
awe of Another Level's front man Dane Bowers
(*insert sound of billions of screaming teenage girls*).
Dane Bowers. The Legend. Even more
legendary than Jesus. And Jesus's dad Ken.
If in the future someone decides
to honour me for my own greatness, then, just like Dane, I
want it to be in the form of having a disused quarry named
after me. Especially a disused quarry that attracts Ring
Ouzels. There were a pair of Ring Ouzels in Dane's quarry
today. There was also so many Wheatears that I lost count
(and I can count like really, really high, like way higher
than 33, sort of like all the way up to 57, and backwards),
and 2 Red Grouse. Dane would have been proud.
Okay, today you have to go over Jochen Roeder's consistently
excellent
Belltower Birding blog where he is hosting the latest
I and the Bird birding blog carnival. Before you
ask, no I don't have even the vaguest of ideas as to what a
blog carnival is - or, for that matter, what
I and the Bird is - but Jochen said that he'd travel
over to Britain, kill my entire family and steal my car if I
didn't contribute something and provide a link.
Jochen is also a
Maiden
fan. 'Nuff said (which means 'enough said', which means
'nothing more needs to be said as I've expressed myself
minimally and necessitating no further elaboration'. Oh,
fuck this.)
Coming soon
May 21st - the official day of
mourning. Join me for a day of remembrance and celebration
of the
life of the world's most famous bird ever - Sammy the Titchwell Stilt. Events will include a séance in which we
shall attempt to contact Sammy from the great RSPB graveyard
in the sky and an online Ouija board, followed by a buffet
(to include a nice selection of cold cuts, scotch eggs and
ASDA sausage rolls) and karaoke. Please get in touch by the
powers of super information highway emailing if you have any
personal experiences of the great creature that you would
like to share with us - I'm sure that it will help us all in
our grieving. But until then...
Something very, very, very strange happened today, I saw a
bird that totally and utterly stumped me - hang on, I'm not
getting all twatty here, because plenty of birds stump me,
but not like this. I mean, I can usually at least manage to
say if a bird is a passerine or not, but this absolutely
battered my brains out. Basically, what happened was that I
saw a Swallow skimming just over the water which was then
joined by another paler bird of pretty much the same size.
It had a lot of white on its upperparts and slightly broader
wings, so I thought for a billionth of second that it was a
House Martin catching the sun on its back and making it look
paler. Then it became clear that it was actually pretty much
all silvery-white on its upperparts and so for a billionth
of a second my thoughts switched to it being a winter
plumaged Sanderling. Seriously, from House Martin to
Sanderling in under a second, though it was clearly neither.
Then it left the water and began to climb high before it
went over the wall of reservoir 1 and vanished behind the
houses. So my description is as follows: a Swallow-sized
bird with slightly broader wings; striking silvery-white
upperparts; possibly a passerine or a non-passerine. Lame.
Two Little Gulls still on reservoir 1 showing well, though
my photos below may suggest otherwise (it was the heat haze,
I swear), a male Wheatear on the causeway and 2 White
Wagtails.
The Great Northern Diver has left the building. Paul Hammond
watched the diver take flight at 6.20am and fly off into the
sunset, well obviously not because it was 6.20am so more
like the sunrise, though that doesn't sound as good. Will it
come back? I've no idea. Do I care? Too early to tell. Ask
me in a week or so. Don't really ask me, I'm just toying
with ya, punky. 3 Little Gulls, a Little Ringed Plover and
an Oystercatcher were the best on offer today.
***
If you get the chance then take a trip to Chorlton and have
a look at the Heron chicks. The nest is on the west island
below head height and there's a chance to get some winning
photographs. Unfortunately you won't be seeing any winning
photographs from me because a) I'm a shit photographer; and
b) there's no way I'd take my camera and 'scope to Chorlton
and risk being stabbed in the throat by a raggle-taggle
miscreant high on Tippex thinning solvents.
The Warblers are streaming in with 4 Willow Warblers, 3
Chiffchaff Warblers and 2 Blackcap Warblers. Seriously poor
skills on the hirundines front with only 1 Sand Martin over
Barlow Tip and still no House Martin.
Another aborted attempt at Audenshaw, this time to avoid
getting killed by a gang of 14 year old biker kids, who no
doubt would have taken great pleasure in beating the shit
out of me whilst filming it on their mobiles and then
posting the video footage on YouTube. So a diversion to Sale
Water Park: 2 Little Ringed Plovers on Broad Ees Dole was
sweet and a Stock Dove was a Mersey Valley tick for me. Not
that I keep a Mersey Valley list.
Forgot my scope so didn't even bother to climb the
embankment - it made me really angry. Went and cleaned the
car instead. Some people kill off excess anger by driving
really fast, some by running really fast and some by simply
killing other people, but for me it's definitely using a
high pressure jet wash, mainly because it makes me feel like
one of the Ghostbusters.
Phwoarr! It's all kicking off on
Birdforum - suppression, hoaxing and even unfounded
allegations of being Welsh. We didn't quite get to Elan to
not see the Blue Rock Thrush, turning back just after
Oswestry when negative news was broadcast over the rare bird
information airwaves. Instead we drove back to World's End
and bumped into
Day, K.
&
Jones, J. who promptly put us onto a flying Black Grouse
and then another flying Black Grouse which came straight
over our heads. First Willow Warbler of 2007 as well.
So that's Glaucous-winged Gull, Snowy Owl and Blue Rock
Thrush that I've not managed to see so far this year. 2007's
shaping up to be a real shitter.
You're not hallucinating,
that above is actually a fall of passerine migrants at Audenshaw -
WOW!
As I was saying below (see 10th April) I love the wonders of
migration. Nothing fills me with more joy and fulfilment
than seeing my little feathered friends return safely to
Britain after undertaking their perilous journey over the
Mediterranean and Milton Keynes. They
literally fell out of the sky like angelic feathered rain
drops, joyously portentous of the coming summer etc... It
would have been great if it weren't for the catrillions of
flies everywhere. I don't know what these flies are but when
Darwin was pissing off the Pope by making things evolve in
his laboratory on the Galapagos islands, these little
fuckers got a seriously raw deal - they're really rubbish.
You just touch them and they self-demolish themselves, like
my bookcases from IKEA. Seriously, one landed on my hand so
I gently brushed it off with my other hand and it left half
its torso behind, one landed on my specs and then promptly
exploded when I flicked it off, and another flew head-on into my binoculars and its wings fell off -
crap! The trouble is that they're not that small (about 2cm
in length) and they leave behind a load of fly shit when
they spontaneously combust. Mental.
Northern Wheatear. Note ring on right leg.
Genuine platinum.
There's plenty of interesting things written about Wheatears
in Birds Britannica but I feel that I'm quoting it so
much that I'm probably going to be pissing about with
copyright laws if I'm not careful. Not that I care about
copyright as I'm an anarchist, but I belong to the New
Anarchy movement that votes Conservative and has less than
liberal views on capital punishment. Below is a Crow:
Carrion Crow. Note extensive use of
the sharpening edit tool in Photoshop.
And below is the same Crow doing a faultless demonstration
of the duck and cover technique taught to school
children in the 50s and 60s, when everyone in Britain and
America was shitting themselves that Stalin and Khrushchev
were going to drop big bombs on them:
Carrion Crow playing up for the camera.
Note even more extensive use of sharpening tool.
I was going to make a really poor taste joke now but it was
neither funny nor nice so I won't. Slap my wrists for even
thinking of it.
And below is a Redshank, my first in Manchester this year:
A Redshank. Note lack of anything
to say about it. Which is a shame. I like Redshanks.
Yellow oil seed rape all around, Skylarks are a larking
about way up in the sky, the air is filled with that healthy
smell of fresh plants, there's a distant shimmer of haze and
stallions are leaping about the fields with massive 18 inch
penises. Must be spring. Definitely spring. Spring's my
favourite time of year after autumn, winter and summer. Best
thing about spring is pancake day. I missed it this year.
Gutted. Lemon and sugar on my pancakes. Keep it simple: keep
it real. Maple syrup's okay sometimes, but I can't face all
that chocolate and pieces of fruit, it's just overload.
Would you dilute an Islay single malt whisky
with Pepsi? Of course you wouldn't. The same applies to
pancakes. And as for ice cream on pancakes? Jesus, just
don't get me started. Shit, I just remembered that pancake
day isn't in spring.
The best thing about spring is the return of our beloved migrants.
Oh, the endless wonders of migration! Of course, that's not true at all but you just
have to say stuff like that. It makes you look like you give
a shit about stuff. Returning migrants
are great for about your first five years of birding and
then it just wears thin. After those first five years you
just pretend from then on that seeing the first Sand
Martin / Wheatear / Willow Warbler etc of the year is absolutely amazing,
or life affirming, or whatever. Some people salute the return
of the Swift with a shot of brandy, some just salute it with
two fingers and tell it to piss off back to Africa.
Seriously though, what's the point in flying 4,000 miles and
getting shot at by bastards in Malta year after year after
year? And how come some birds stop in Spain and others carry
on another 3,000 miles to the top of Finland? Do they toss
coins back in Africa? Or is it just the stupid ones that
decide to chance death by compounding deadly sea crossings
with further deadly sea crossings to get all the way up to
Iceland? And then you're supposed to marvel at the
astounding feat of Wheatears that breed in Alaska and then
fly all the way across Asia to Africa for the winter. And
why? What's to marvel
at? They're clearly as stupid as fuck. Why don't they just
winter in Central America or south-east Asia? Yet our resident birds like the humble Wren or Dunnock get a load a
stick for not migrating. Oh the boring Wren, the shitty
Dunnock. Where's the thrill in them? Yet which is the
commoner bird - Wren or Wheatear? And why? Because Wrens
aren't stupid bastards flying halfway around the globe like
Wheatears. Yet who gets the most kudos? Wheatears. Madness!
So we praise the stupid and slag off the sensible. That's
just typical of today. No wonder we're all turning into
giant Starbucks mugs.
10 Spotted Redshanks, 1 Ruff, 8 billion
Black-tailed Godwits, 6 trillion Avocets, 20+ Sand Martins
and 4+ Marsh Harriers. Nice weather. Nice place. Can't wait
for the first Swift. I love returning migrants really (you're
messing with our minds!)
"So why no Chorlton updates for so long, Tom?" I'm sure
you've been asking. There's a good reason. Basically,
without getting too bogged down in detail, someone there is going to kill me if I ever bump into him again. I
can't be bothered to explain why, well, actually years and
years of watching Prisoner Cell Block H and listening
to The Shamen's Ebenezer Goode has frazzled my short
term memory and I can't even remember what I was when what?
Me? When? Tuesday? And in these clothes? Never...
...what was I talking about? Oh yeah, comedian/magician Jerry Sadovitz. He
was funny. He was also offensive. No, he was very offensive.
His most famous gag was when he said that Nelson Mandela is a cunt and
Terry Waite is a fucking bastard, the reason being that:
you lend some people a fiver and then you never see them
again. Tasteless? You should hear his
stuff about Jill Dando. Or maybe you shouldn't. There's a
fine line between tasteless and tasty. And a fine line
between North and South Korea.
There was a Swallow at Chorlton this morning, the first of
the year. 'One Swallow doesn't make a summer,' some people say. Well
obviously it doesn't. I think some people are a bit simple. There are two Grey Heron chicks in the nest
on the west island (at head height so a good chance for
anyone that wants to photograph them without causing any
disturbance) and there was an all time record count of
11 Mute Swans today. Chiffchaffs are in, Willow Warblers are
not. Yet. But they will be. Have a little patience.
'No legs' man in bus pass bust-up -
2007 winner of most unusual newspaper headline
First stop today was for the Siberian Chiffchaff at Formby.
Unfortunately we forgot that it's the Easter holidays and
that the Easter holidays inevitably equate to billions of
kids running around and screaming anywhere near to the
seaside. Still, the Chiffchaff doesn't really care and seems
oblivious to screaming 6 year old girls hiding behind bushes
and begging their mother to shout 'Tellytubbies come out...
now!' and then jumping out of the bushes.
We saw the Sibe Chiff for about half an hour just after
midday but it unfortunately refused to make any noise
whatsoever - another birder had been there for an hour
before us and heard nothing either. It has green/yellow
restricted purely to the secondaries (forming a limey green
panel) and on the outer rectrices and uppertail
coverts/rump; the upperparts are a dirty brown grey lacking
any greenish hue in all lights and at all angles; the throat
has a faint creamy brown wash; the forehead looks slightly
darker, almost seeming a bit like a Lesser Whitethroat, but
not seeming like one at all if you follow; legs and feet are
jet black; I couldn't nail a good view of the bill but I
think it has quite a bit of pale on the lower mandible. So
there you are. I really wish I'd heard it, but I'll just
accept the view from those that have heard it - that's the
kind of trusting kind of a guy I am, a rare thing in this
day and age. If anyone has a recording of it
singing/calling/both then please let me know (tommckinney1979
AT yahoo.co.uk).
***
And then it was through Southport to Marshside RSPB, passing
the legendary
Lawnmower Museum on the way. Avocets galore:
The last time I went here was 2002 and there wasn't a single
Avocet, and just 5 years later there are now 752 pairs -
wow! The photo below is a pretty unflattering image of a
very elegant bird - it's a shame that birds have no privacy,
having intimate images of them posted on pornithology sites
all over the place without their permission. Now I
understand how Katie Jordan Price-Andre feels every time
she's caught by the paparazzi accidentally flashing her clam
when she scrambles out of a limo.
Also there a drake Green-winged Teal:
I reckon Green-winged Teal would be the easiest bird of all
to fool a records committee with: 1) go to local patch; 2)
make sure you are the only person there; 3) take photo of
drake Teal; 4) add white stripe when editing in Paint; 5)
send to county rarities committee; 6) have a drink or two to
celebrate successful deception. It was paired up with a
female Teal sp. Is this a female Green-winged Teal? Has any
clever brainbox bastard sorted out how to tell females yet?
Also, note how the speculum on the female looks blue (bovvered
loads):
And then a Lapwing crash landed into the shingle island.
Here you can see it in some pain and looking quite
embarrassed with itself. Don't worry it eventually flew off
and crashed somewhere else:
***
And then the afternoon was concluded at Warton Bank for the
Glossy Ibis:
The bird is residing next to an RAF base and fighter jets
were coming in to land all the time. They pass just overhead
which is pretty amazing, and we even watched a Harrier Jump
Jet hover and land quite close to us - awesome! Sure beats
watching birds.
